


Neo City: Piano

by BrookeLynne



Series: Neo City [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Asian Character(s), Black Character(s), Boyfriend Taeil, Come Swallowing, Couch Sex, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, He will feature in the next story, Johnny is briefly mentioned, Musician Taeil, Oral Sex, Piano Sex, Vaginal Sex, ambw, cancel the vanilla Taeil agenda, quiet people can be kinky too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 03:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrookeLynne/pseuds/BrookeLynne
Summary: During a quiet day at home together, your boyfriend uses you as inspiration for a song he's been working on.[But also, I really suck at summaries, so forgive me.]





	Neo City: Piano

**Author's Note:**

> Check the series notes page for more Information.

You lean against the doorframe while observing your boyfriend in his natural habitat: his in-home recording studio. A musician, blessed with gifted hands and powerful vocals, his talent is unparalleled. He possesses innate musical instincts that cannot be taught; the kind one is simply born with. He radiates music as if it is his one true purpose in life.

You were brought together by a mutual friend, Johnny, who is like the annoying little brother you claim to have never wanted, and can't seem to get rid of. But really, sharing the fact that you are both the only child of your families spurred you to latch onto one another fairly quickly. You hold a deep affinity for each other, beneath the constant bickering and teasing. When his _hyung_ confided that he held feelings for you, he invited you onto his radio show under the ruse of talking about being a woman of color in the industry, with an underlying motive of inviting said hyung on for a confession segment.

Given your candid personality, you expressed your displeasure, once you were off the air, about being ambushed once you were off the air, as anything is liable to come out of your mouth when caught off guard. The quickest way to get him fined, and perhaps, kicked off the air. And who said you needed setting up anyway! Your dating life was just fine… or so you thought. With a hand on your shoulder, Johnny simply responded " _Noona, trust me. You're perfect for each other. Give him a chance._ "

Well… he was right. Whoever said opposites attract must've had you and Taeil in mind. You can't be more polar opposites if you tried. He's an introvert who doesn't say much in social settings, but has a quirky sense of humor that still makes his presence felt. You have no humor, no patience, and a big mouth with no filter. Simplified, he's an angel and you're an ice queen. You're unapologetically you, and so is he.

But it was his drive, his passion, his need to eat, sleep, _breathe_ his craft, that showed you another facet to him. He speaks, expresses his emotions, through his music. What he can't put into words, he finds a way to arrange in beautiful, intricate melodies. Melodies that melted your tough persona and pried open your heart to him.

Now, as his hands glide effortlessly over ivory keys of the grand piano at the center of the room, you take in his glowing features amid the sunlight streaming through the French doors of the terrace. His warm, honeyed skin. Sharp jawline and full lips. Messy red hair, shaved undercut on one side. He's small but solidly built. And you couldn't let a shallow thing like height keep you from a man who makes you feel as though you're the only woman that matters each time he lays eyes upon you.

"Tel," you call to him by his nickname.

He is unresponsive, eyes closed, drifting on a sea of harmonies created from his own fingertips. Not surprising. Many days he loses track of time while locked away in his safe haven. You often have to make him take breaks to eat and take in some fresh air.

Your toes sink into the lush carpet beneath your feet as you pad lightly across the soundproof room. Not only is the studio impervious to sound, he’s cultivated a comfortable atmosphere conducive to the flow of creative energy. The lighting is warm and cozy furniture. His guitar collection, that he freaks out if anyone goes near, is neatly arranged to his standard of perfection in a corner. Mixing board and recording booth on a far wall.

But the focal point of the room, his _pièce de résistance_ , is the mahogany Steinway he's slumped behind. Valued in the thousands, the restored antique should command all the attention. It had certainly enraptured the focus of the man who left you alone in bed.

His oversized flannel, even too big for him, makes sweater paws of your hands, as you wrap your arms around his neck. You expect him to be startled by your sudden touch, however his heartbeat remains steady while his hands continue sweeping across the keys. "Moon of my life," you speak softly, resting your chin in the groove of his neck. It's your nerdy take from the series _Game of Thrones_ , but an apt title for him nonetheless.

A slight smile curls at the corners of his lips, moved by your term of endearment for him. To which he responds in kind, "My sun and stars." Your heart flutters, never tiring of hearing him say it.

“Did you hear me call your name?”

“I felt your presence in the doorway,” he speaks with a stoic calm.

"You left me," you pout cutely, remembering the cold sheets wrapping you into a cocoon when you’d rolled over.

"You looked so peaceful lying there. I didn't want to wake you."

"Until now?"

You notice his phone leaning against the music rack. It's open to a metronome app, keeping time for the melody he is currently playing. However, minutes ago, you know for certain it was open to the remote app connected to the vibrator he had left snugly between your folds. The intimacy you shared last night had left you so depleted, you hadn’t felt him insert it. A gift he likes you to wear occasionally around the house, granting him control to turn it on and off at his whim. Small notions to say he’s thinking of you.

It was that sudden burst of pulsing vibrations against your bundled nerves that woke you from your slumber. Your real world and dreamworld blended together in a hazy fog, envisioning him bringing you pleasure between your legs. In a way, he was. The vibrations suddenly increased, his finger sliding up the level of intensity, pulling you fully into the present with wide open eyes. You writhed around in bed, your legs rubbing together, while cradling his pillow in your arms, his scent still upon it. Until eventually, pleasure subsided into nothing.

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks with a mischievous grin.

You push away from his shoulders before leaning against the edge of the piano. “I would’ve enjoyed it more had you let me finish.”

He licks his lips and teases “Where’s the fun in that?”

“So you woke me because… why?”

“I was missing you.”

“You could’ve just come back to bed.”

His plays a faint melody, accompanied by the damper pedal, before replying “If I come back to bed, I’ll never leave.”

“Would that be so bad?”

"Are you still wearing it?"

Your hesitation before answering “no” most likely gave away your lie. A few taps to his screen cause you to buckle at the knees.

"Liar," he smirks with gratification. "You had to know I would check."

"Maybe I wanted you to," you whisper, focusing on the delightful sensations traveling throughout your body.

Yet, they abruptly subside again. "Nice try," he muses.

You swallow the whimper in your throat, so as not to sound as desperate as you truly are. "Taeil."

"Not yet, love," he denies you once more. "Was last night not enough?"

You smile with a wispy sigh as you recall last night's events. It had been a month since you had proper time together, due to conflicting work schedules. As delighted as he was to see you, and hold you, it was your new shade of lipstick that truly captured his attention. A deep shade of plum that allowed you to leave dark marks all over him. His lips. His face. Chest, abs, and cock. You were both so worked up by the time he slid inside you, that it wasn't long before your unified screams of ecstasy permeated the air. He was exhausted, but you were insatiable. You pleaded for more, and because he loves you, he pleasured you until you begged him to stop from overstimulation.

Yes, last night was plenty enough, and the shy smile on his face confirms it. But it's not your fault he's so incredibly sexy that he makes you yearn for more.

"Does it bother you," he timidly asks, "that I like that? Do you find it weird?"

You deduce he's referring to his kink about lipstick. Whenever you wear it, it's an instant switch on for him. "Do you think it's weird that I like to watch you get dressed? Although, to be fair, I also like watching you get undressed. However, I find something visually appealing about the process of a man getting dressed, especially when he wears a suit. My legs may as well just fall open."

"And they _do_ fall open," he nods with a chuckle. "I've been late to many events because of you."

"I didn't hear you complaining at the time," you coo seductively. "But my point withstands: we're not weird. We just… like what we like. And that's okay."

Quiet contentment fills the atmosphere, you declining to give voice to your own insecurities plaguing the back of your mind. They're always there, the differences in your age and race. You're far older than what is 'socially acceptable' to be with him, and your skin is undeniably darker upon first glance. You've asked him before if your age and race are issues for him, and each time, he assures you they are not. He knew exactly who you were when he confessed his feelings for you, and it doesn’t deter him from falling deeper still.

You hold fast to that notion while meticulously watching his hands expertly travel the black and white keys, switching from major to minor, and back again. You don’t pretend to know as much about music as he does, but you recognize the notes as a melody he’s played numerous times before. “What song is that?”

“It’s not a song… not yet,” he explains. “The notes came to me in a dream one night. I can't get them out of my head.”

“What was your dream about?”

His beautiful almond shaped eyes finally drift open to reveal a deep sea of dark brown peering back at you. Your breath nearly hitches, almost forgetting how intense his gaze can be. His full lips part to speak a single word. "You."

Once again, you're taken aback by his affection for you. Ordinarily, you'd have a snide comment or sassy comeback, your defense mechanism in preventing others from penetrating your emotional armor. You're quite successful at keeping others at bay. And you enjoy shredding fragile male egos on a daily!

But not him. Not Taeil.

Sure, you can say it's because he's on the sensitive side and a cutting comment from you, even made in jest, might potentially destroy his feelings. Being the person who made the most genuine guy in the world cry is a reputation not even you want to carry. But truthfully, it's because he _is_ so sweet, and kind, that you want to buy into the fantasy. You want to believe you deserve a man like him.

You nervously tug at the sleeves of the flannel, cautious in asking "Was it a… good dream?"

He nearly answers immediately. "Bittersweet."

You nod in place of a verbal response.

"I've been having trouble completing the ending, but I believe you can help with that."

"Tel," you scoff, "you know I don't know anything about music."

"You don't need to. I'll take care of the music, while you… be you -- my muse."

"What exactly does a muse have to do?"

"Well," he licks his lips as he rises from the piano bench, "she should be front and center, so that I can draw inspiration from her."

Your mouth goes slack as his hand lightly taps the closed piano lid. Taeil is normally very particular about the handling of his most prized possessions, so his suggestion comes as a shock to you. "You want me to sit on your very expensive, very rare piano?"

"I know all of that, love, I paid for it. So yes, I know what I'm asking you to do."

"Well how do I-"

His outstretched hand interrupts your question of how you're supposed to get up there. You can't come up with any more rebuttals, not when he looks this cute, so you have no choice but to place your trusting hand in his. You step up onto the bench, and then onto the keyboard, the sound of clashing notes mingling into the air. You quickly sit before you do any further damage.

It feels awkward at first, never having sat on top a piano before, though looking down at him from your perch gives you a bit of a high. A chill travels your spine when he taps the side of your leg, signaling for you to open them. You lean back on the palms of your hands, slowly spreading your legs while maintaining eye contact with him. He never looks away, not even to wrap his hands around your knees and pull you forward to the edge.

Your bite down on your lip with a lust so strong in the pit of your stomach. You want to tangle your fingers in his vibrant locks and pull his luscious lips to your needy core. The smirk at the corner of his lips says he knows exactly what you're thinking. "Behave," he scolds lightheartedly with a lifted brow.

"I didn't do anything…" you reply innocently.

"Yet," he emphasizes.

"Then what am I _supposed_ to do? What happens now?"

"Now," he sits directly in front of you, "I play."

"And me?"

"You enjoy."

Those were some half-ass instructions, not giving you much on your task as _muse_. And you were prepared to object to that fact, until you were thwarted by sudden vibrations pulsing through your core once more. It's a low frequency, steady, but enough to make you forgo arguing with him and submit yourself to sweet bliss.

The momentum is compounded when his fingers begin to masterfully play the familiar melody. Treble and bass strings mixing beautifully together, sending resounding vibrations up through the lid, through your bottom, spreading throughout every limb of your body. It's as if he's strumming you with his very own hands, causing you to feel every single note composed in honor of you. He's worshiping you, his goddess, without laying a single finger on you.

Yet, you burn under the heat of his intense gaze. His fingers have a mind of their own, while his eyes remain locked on you. It’s like a game of chicken to see who will look away first. With so much adrenaline coursing through you, it’s no wonder you break first. Your eyes drift close as your head falls back, a breathy mewl escaping your parted lips. Taeil encourages you to continue. "That's it, love. Let me hear those pretty moans I love so much."

The intensity of the vibrations increase, from both the vibrator and the piano. How he's mastering both so skillfully, without missing a beat, is beyond you. You are his canvas, his instrument. He is the artist, plucking strings and sweeping strokes to a tune only he knows. When your moans increase in pitch, his melody follows suit. Your bliss filled sighs blend harmoniously with the smooth _legato_ of his piano melody, creating an eargasmic symphony only he can compose.

As your panting quickens, so does his pace. You are his metronome, keeping a natural progression of time so that you are in sync with one another. The rapid succession of vibrations against your sensitive clit act as his drummer, building tension until you're pulled taut as a rope fit to snap.

Toes curled. Mouth dry. Body covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your pleas filter more into whining, but you can hardly bring yourself to care. You merely want him to grant you sweet release, _fortissimo_. "Tel… baby, please. I'm so close. I'm so… can I please… I need to… oh my God I…"

You can barely string together a coherent thought, mind clouded by sheer ecstasy and the desire to come just for him. Your moans _crescendo_ like an _aria_ approaching its climax. At this rate, you won't be able to hold off for his permission. You're barreling toward the edge with no brakes, certain to topple over.

And he's there to catch you. Just as you breach the peak of your climax, you feel the swift pull of the vibrator leaving your warmth, but his mouth taking its place just as quickly. His full lips sucking your pearl with wanton abandon; his hands holding your legs apart. Your orgasm rips through you so strongly your back arches as you recline back, writhing under intense pleasure. Your fingers find his hair, gripping tight within his red tresses, as your hips incline to both pull away and beg for more.

Your body trembles, humming, floating, as he laps up the last bit of nectar dripping from your folds. He trails kisses on the inside of your thighs, his hands massaging the top, soothing you back to a state of peace and tranquility.

"You okay?" he asks, lacing his fingers between yours.

You exhale with an airy chuckle. "Define 'okay.'"

He pulls you up to a sitting position again. "I got what I needed. Did you?"

"You seriously asking?" you remark with a smile. You seize his face between your hands, thumbs sweeping his prominent cheekbones. This man -- this… extraordinarily talented, gorgeous man. Selfless. Considerate. Generous. Humble. _Perfect_. You don’t miss the ravenous lust in his eyes, or the desperation in his hasty breathing. Watching you become putty in his hands stoked a fire in his belly, needy for a release of his own. You want to give it to him. You want him to ascend to the same euphoric high you’re experiencing right now.

You clumsily climb down from atop the piano, stepping on several keys in the progress, notes resounding nowhere near as harmonious as the ones he expertly played. You guide him backward by his shoulders until his knees buckle and bend against the edge of the leather sofa. He isn’t objecting to any of your actions, so you know that he’s craving your touch just as much as you’re anticipating caressing his smooth skin. You want his body to hum in the same fashion he made yours.

Your lips seize his with a fiery passion while running your hands beneath his shirt. A low growl travels from his mouth to yours when your fingertips graze over his nipples. You smile with satisfaction of eliciting the sound from him. “Someone’s eager,” you whisper at the corner of his mouth.

“Someone’s a tease,” he mumbles in response. He slips off his shirt in one fluid motion, granting you full access to the toned muscles of his chest and abs. Your mouth waters at the sight, wanting to kiss him any and everywhere. You give way to desire, starting at the base of his neck, moving along his collarbone and shoulders. By the time your lips wrap delicately around his nipple, his head rolls back onto the sofa cushion. His hand seizes the nape of your short, bobbed hair when your teeth lightly nip at his firm pec.

You enjoy seeing him panting beneath you. His voice gets huskier each time your hips rock back and forth over his clothed length. His thin sweatpants aren’t much of a barrier between you and his rock solid erection. You consider continuing to tease him, to see how truly needy he can become. However, he seems to be one step ahead of all of your thoughts today. Him gripping your chin with one hand compels you to look directly into his intense brown eyes. “Choose a hole for me to fuck.”

Your jaw goes slack, your mouth hanging open in shock. Taeil doesn’t typically talk so vulgar; that would be you. Where you're much more reckless in saying exactly what is on your mind, Taeil takes the time to consider his words carefully. However, losing himself in moments with you, he allows himself to emote without thinking. The level of comfort grants him space to express his innermost sexual desires without fear of judgment. In fact, you find the hint of aggression in his tone to be incredibly sexy. A subtle dominance that radiates within the heat of his eyes gives you an instinctive need to comply.

You lift yourself up on your knees long enough for him to quickly slide out of his pants. When his cock springs free, you immediately notice the string of precum weeping from its swollen tip. He's so ready for release that it's a given he won't last long. You lift the hem of your flannel in one hand, while taking his thick cock in the other. He hisses when you rub your thumb over the tip, smearing precum around his sensitive head. He grips the sofa cushions tight in his fists, gritting his teeth with anticipation while watching you guide him inside your damp canal.

Your breath shutters at the swell of him stretching you, filling you wall to wall. A feeling you never tire of. He fits so perfectly inside you, it's as if you were carved for each other. You lean forward, hands resting against his chest, while your lips nibble at his earlobe. He groans with impatience just before you say the beautiful words he's been longing to hear. "Fuck me, baby."

He hastily removes the flannel shirt and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you snug against his body, granting him the perfect angle to fuck into you. His thrusts are tempered at first, hips rolling gradually while simultaneously stimulating your sensitive clit. You whine sweetly into his ear, evoking a throaty moan in him. He speaks directly next to your ear, each warm breath passing through to your hair. "You looked so beautiful up there. Legs spread wide, clenching around nothing. Desperate to be fucked."

Your fingers smoothly glide through his dense red locks before grasping hold of a patch to cling to. He hisses at the tight sensation. Your reactions aren't intentional, but natural, instinctive. Your auras in tune with one another, bodies melded together for the perfect melody. "The way you came for me. On my piano."

You giggle bashfully in the crook of his neck, lips slightly brushing against his sweet spot. "Sorry," you gasp when he sharply snaps his hips into you.

He tilts your head back, causing you to look into his eyes. Your breathing becomes shallow with every pointed thrust.  "I wanted it. I wanted to imprint every detail in my mind. Your shape. Your scent. Your sounds. Your taste. I want to remember it all."

Your eyes close with a desperate whine. You didn't expect to be coming again so soon. This was supposed to be about him, helping him reach peak gratification. But you become more excited each time he slams in and out of you. The smacking of your flesh mingling well with your cries of ecstasy.

"Come for me again, like that," he says through labored breathing.

You're not sure you have it in you, given he's so close to finishing. But a firm smack on the ass gives you a much needed jolt of energy. You're both wringing with so much sweat that his grasp on your waist begins to slip. But it doesn't stop him. His slick hair clings to his furrowed brow as he continues his punishing pace, fucking you harder, faster, deeper. Never faltering in rhythm, determined to climax with your swollen warmth convulsing frantically around him.

"Taeil," you choke out his name just as another orgasm grips hold of your body.

His moans match yours, loud and heavy, as he erupts inside you. His hot release fills you so quickly that it seeps out the sides of your lips, down his shaft, into his lap. You grasp on each other lingers until you eventually come to a stop.

Your breathing is ragged, limbs limp, as your body collapses onto him. He doesn't seem to mind it, simply kisses your forehead while you both bask in the aftershock of your euphoria. Your chests heave into each other with elevated heart rates that are nearly sync. Listening to him breathe is one of the most beautiful sounds you've ever heard.

Once you reclaim a bit of strength, you slide to the floor, kneeling in front of him. Your eyes are locked with his as you make a show of licking him clean. Your tongue slides up one side of his shaft and down the other, sweeps across his lower abdomen, until every drop has been consumed into your mouth. His eyes roll back into his head at your display, and you smile with complete satisfaction, knowing you gave him the same experience he gave to you.

He huffs heavily into the ceiling, "Fuck, I love you so damn much, woman."

You chuckle at his relaxed honesty, climbing next to him on the sofa. "I love you, too."

"I just wanna stay in this moment with you forever."

"I wish we could, babe," you brush back the hair from his forehead. "I hate when we're away for so long."

"Are _you_ being _clingy_?" he mocks with gasp. "What is this new revelation-"

"Shut up before I take it back, little short man."

"There's my girl," he chuckles while lacing his fingers with yours. "But it's too late. I already know that beneath all of that sass, you're a softie."

You teasingly roll your eyes. "Only for men who write songs about me. Speaking of, what's it called?"

"I don't know yet. Right now, it's just the piano melody, but the mood evokes I think about a lot when I'm on the road. When I can't talk to you, can't hold you, I find comfort in my memories, until we can connect again."

"You're so sentimental."

"Is that a crime?"

"No," you say with a quick kiss to his lips, "but being hungry is."

"You're cooking?" he poses with a raised brow.

"Haha, you think you're so funny." You turn back towards him in the doorway. "I'm ordering in. You want anything?"

His posture looks so relaxed into the couch. It's unlikely he'll be moving anytime soon. "Whatever you get me is fine."

"Alright." You turn to walk away, but look back once more. "Hey, Tel… I know I don't always show it, but… you know I love you, right? Like, you _know_ that, don't you?"

His lips spread into the bright smile that always makes your heart soar. "I know… my sun and stars."

"Moon of my life."

**Author's Note:**

> During the process of writing, I considered the melody Taeil was composing. What does it sound like? And to what purpose?
> 
> I became inspired by the mood and lyrics of 'Jet Lag' from the 'Superhuman EP.' The piano melody that Taeil plays is the same melody from the song. In this 'Neo City' universe, he eventually composes the song into what we know now, complete with lyrics how he feels when they are apart. It's such an incredibly beautiful song. I hope you will take the time to check it out and hear how it infuses with the mood of this story.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlIRXipI7Nk  
> Thanks,  
> Brooke  
> 


End file.
